


Broken Vows

by nickysvalentine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gen, Loss, Other, Persecution, Politics, Revenge, Violence, religious agenda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickysvalentine/pseuds/nickysvalentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawke spared Anders' life, Sebastian made a promise. "I will hunt your precious Anders down, and I will kill him", he spat - and he fully intends to make his words come true. For the apostate mage is a murderer, having taken the life of countless of innocent people, justice must be served. And if it's the last thing Sebastian does.</p><p>Reclaiming rulership of Starkhaven had proven to be easier than expected and the first step into the hunt. And although it is not an easy feat to track down Anders, Sebastian knows it will not take much longer now. Soon enough, he will face the mage and most certainly, Hawke, too.</p><p>That she is the Vael's wife fails to change anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Vows

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is my first Dragon Age fic with multiple chapters ever. Bear with me, please - I'm rather new to this entire concept in general! I will try my best to be spot on with the characters, and if you feel I'm doing that a disservice, let me know.
> 
> Comments, reviews and opinions would be really appreciated. :)
> 
> Thank you!

The dry grass broke as easily as a fragile bird's bones beneath the soles of his boots as he carefully took his steps, senses heightened. In a half circle he tread, preying and cautious, with his eyes fixated on the pair of well known blues, now struck with something softer than hatred but more unforgiving than surrender. An expression born of past sentiments, still cursing the blood and ringing in her ears as an old, familiar song whispered. The flames of the camp fire danced in those orbs, giving her a harder touch. Truthfully, the years had worn on all three of them; he almost did not recognise the face that would once light up in utter joy for him though nothing more but a few more stern lines had been added, a few more cuts, a few more scars. Like a tree's bark, it told you of stories of survival, of running, of fighting, stories that did not need any words. She had never looked as much of a warrior, as much of Hawke as she did in that moment.

He could read her still, she could not hide what she was trying to from him: the raw fury that he would not listen, that he had come to keep his promise; the sheer desperation as to how this would end, as to whose blood would be shed first and forever stain righteous hands and a pure heart. Righteous was either cause in the minds of theirs, righteous to the point where retreat was unacceptable. To seek the fault in the other was a fool's errand – and this, they knew – but convinced in their beliefs, it was the only option they had left. The only option to end this once and for all. It was the only option they knew, and for justice needed to be served, Prince Sebastian Vael could not loosen the grip on his grandfather's bow.

 _He_ needed to cease to be, that abomination. He needed to pay the price in blood for what he'd done, and for what he would be doing if unstopped. For years, it was the only thing Sebastian sought to achieve, and even if he died here today, this would end either way.

The Champion, however, was not a variable in this equation.

“Hawke, beloved. _Step aside_.”

Futile was the request. Of course she wouldn't. Sebastian could read on Anders' face that he wanted her involved in this as much as the archer did, but she remained; stubborn and persistent, proving her point (and mocking him, maybe?) by closing her fingers tightly around Anders' wrist and urging him to stand behind her. “No”, she said, calmly, her free hand moving to the great sword – the Hawke's Key – resting on her back. And it was only fair, for she was the target; Sebastian's arrow was pointing at her now for Anders had shifted in his position. Suddenly, when before, the feather's felt oddly comforting against his skin, they were now stabbing and burning his flesh. Push came to shove, Sebastian would pierce her throat. And yet, there was still something that bound him to her, and that part of him would never be able make him forgive himself, would never allow him to move on.

On her left hand, something glistened in the moonlight shining from above, highlighted by the radiating life from the fire. He know it was a mistake, but Sebastian's eyes could not help but dance to her left hand – to the hand she was holding on to Anders with – and within the secure cage of his chest, his heart gave a painful squeeze. Dropped dead and picked up again in double speed, pumping acid through his veins. He would have preferred it to kill him, Maker's Breath, for then he would not have to do this anymore – would not have to speculate, would not have to know that she still cared, that the Hawke he had known in Kirkwall was still there; that she was, still, the loyal soul he had admired so much and that this was nothing more than a strong woman protecting her friend.

That this was his _wife_ protecting her friend.

The ring he had slid on her finger all this time ago in the Kirkwall Chantry was now nothing more than a child giggling behind a fisted hand.

“No, Sebastian”, Hawke repeated, not letting go of Anders and drawing her sword. The mage behind her began to glow, black and blue; conducted by the force of brutal Vengeance living within him.

“You will _not_ have him.”

 


End file.
